


The Call of the Scarab

by darthneko



Series: What Matters Most [7]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Post Mpreg, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2019-05-25 12:37:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14977301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthneko/pseuds/darthneko
Summary: The Call of the Scarab was an unofficial thing, an anniversary observed primarily by southern Kalimdor. It was an ostentatious name for what amounted to a friendly sort of free-for-all for the mercenaries of Azeroth in some grand re-enactment of a historic battle, coupled with routing the cultists who persisted in being deeply entrenched in the empty dunes of the Silithus desert.It was, in short, a three day grant of leave, where the off-duty drunken brawlers could go brawl somewhereelse.





	The Call of the Scarab

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a chapter in the bits and pieces collection "Life is to be Savored" - I'm breaking them out into individual fics so that things can be put in chronological order.

Anduin barely glanced up as General Anderson climbed the dais beside him. The man’s steps were brisk but not urgent, his posture relaxed, and nothing about the way he had entered through the side doors of the throne room and approached set off warning bells. It was an affectation, Anduin knew - Anderson could go from relaxed to deadly in a heartbeat, with barely a change of expression, but the large man took care to communicate to his liege as clearly as he could and it was a consideration in the current atmosphere that Anduin appreciated. 

It made it easy to turn his head slightly as Anderson leaned down against the arm of the throne and for all his size the other man could keep his voice low when he wanted to. “The Consort and his guard have returned, Your Majesty.”

Something unconsciously tight in Anduin’s stomach relaxed, letting his breath come easier. He hadn’t, he told himself firmly, been worried - not really, not when Ren and Hardwire had gone out together and he knew very well that they were a force to be reckoned with, especially when combined, and would always have each other's backs. It wasn’t worry for them, not as such, but it was a relief all the same to hear that they had returned, something that eased an itch somewhere beneath his ribs. It was, he could admit, purely personal, his own back and sides too empty in the absence of the presence he had grown used to. 

The audience was nearly concluded, a trade dispute that he had already made his mind up on though Anduin had been willing to let the evidence prove him wrong. It hadn’t, and his verdict didn’t make the noble houses happy but it did please the labor guilds and with seven new ships in the docks in various states of construction the guilds were, by far, the more important. Anduin wrapped the matter quickly, Anderson waiting to the side in an easy parade rest as though he might stand there all day like any common guard, but when Anduin rose to his feet the other man dropped into step beside him. 

“They should be coming in to land in the courtyard,” Anderson said mildly, and that was another reason - besides a sharp tactical mind and an astounding amount of common sense - that he had quickly risen into the ranks of Anduin’s preferred counsel. There were still, over a year and a half and four children later, those in the nobility and military who had no idea how to handle their king’s choice in consort. It ranged from stilted to hesitant to a grating kind of distance that bordered on outright distaste, and it made those like Anderson, who had never so much as blinked an eye, all the higher in Anduin’s esteem. 

Anderson, catching his king’s gaze, grinned slightly, the thick bars of his auburn moustache - tinged at the edges with silver, the only real betrayal of age in a man who had the solid height and muscle of a draft horse - twitching. "Patrol reports the Consort and company are in high spirits." 

Anduin let himself shake his head, his own smile small by habit, but real. The Call of the Scarab was an unofficial thing, an anniversary observed primarily by southern Kalimdor. It was an ostentatious name for what amounted to a friendly sort of free-for-all for the mercenaries of Azeroth in some grand re-enactment of a historic battle, coupled with routing the cultists who persisted in being deeply entrenched in the empty dunes of the Silithus desert where camps could pull up stakes and disappear without a trace in a matter of hours. The Cenarion Circle who watched over the legitimate routes through the desert did what they could, but the cultists seemed to grow at the same rate as the great sprawling Silithid hives that dotted the inhospitable landscape.

In the end, the Call did double duty of culling the dangers of the region while masquerading as a holiday of sorts. Anduin had already heard more than enough objections to it all, but in the end he had overridden them; overridden, and granted leave to every mercenary contracted to the Alliance, as well as every standard militia not currently involved in the fleet rebuilding effort. It was, he had pointed out, only three days. It gave the restless something to do, shored up morale and injected patriotism in the military, and was a much needed economic boost to southern Kalimdor. The re-enactment war games, he had argued, where Alliance soldiers clashed with Horde during the day and then retreated to Gadgetzan and temporary camps at night to drink and mingle with those same Horde soldiers and compare their 'kill' counts, fostered an interfactional camaraderie that Azeroth as a whole desperately needed. 

It was, in short, a three day grant of leave, where the off-duty drunken brawlers could go brawl somewhere _else._

The fact that "mercenary" and "drunken brawler" could previously have been used to describe the royal Consort was a fact that most people - including Anduin - sometimes forgot. He had been well prepared to lose one mate for the duration and not as well prepared to lose both, but he'd given in to the inevitable with as much grace as he could muster. Now, knowing they were both returning safely, he could even enjoy it, a vicarious pleasure in the fun his mates had undoubtedly had while out causing chaos and sanctioned destruction.

He could, Anduin thought, be forgiven if his steps quickened through the halls which led to the north facing courtyard that overlooked the lake. Anticipation was a warm feeling in his veins and his smile, confined to the small polite expression he used in public, broke free to something broader and more real as he caught sight of a tangle of multicolored scales through the archways that surrounded the courtyard, where two cloud serpents were looping over and around each other and Hardwire's deep laugh was echoing from something Ren had said.

Anduin started to take the shallow steps down into the promenade that encircled the courtyard... and stopped, caught short as one of the cloud serpents reared up, launching itself skyward, and he had his first good look at the two Pandaren who shared his life.

They were both wearing identical outfits, not the normal warm browns of Hardwire's traveling clothes or the rich tones Ren favored. They were ruffled from the flight and still sandy around the edges, and their clothes were... Anduin had to think hard for a moment before placing the purple and red robes as something used by the cultists and how his _mates_ had ended up wearing Twilight Cult robes was a question he didn't want to examine too closely.

Assuming they could even be called _robes._

Oh, it was a perfectly standard kilt from the waist down, the kind of light cloth mageweave favored by spellcasters the world over if one ignored the excessive amount of leather-belted trim. The outfit's resemblance to the full body garments used by many mages and priests ended there, though, and from the waist up there was more buckled leather, some strategically placed cloth, and _entirely too much bare FUR._

Anduin's complexion had been inherited more from his fair haired mother than his father's easily tanned swarthiness. It was a liability in the sun and even more so when he could feel the flush rising up his neck and through his cheeks. A disproportionate amount of blood was rushing away from his head, heat coiling abrupt and hot through his stomach, the feeling thrumming all through him in an electric jolt. 

He tore his eyes away, spine snapping straight as he drew in a sharp breath and hastily reassembled the guarded mask of his public face. It wasn't, he noted dimly, as eye-catchingly arresting on Hardwire as it was on Ren; they were, both of them, displaying the same wealth of pale fur from chest all the way down to their hips, bisected by a vertical strap that appeared to be the sole thing holding the whole outfit together. Anduin had a brief moment to realize just how ridiculous it was - he was well familiar with both of them in nothing but their fur and had seen them both in public shirtless, but there was something about the way the kilt fabric hung low on the hips, supported by the heavy leather strap that lay across chest and belly, topped by a scrap of fabric, that made the swathes of bared fur all along belly and ribs and back that much more glaringly _naked._

Hardwire wore it the same way he wore travel leathers, armor, councillor robes, and his own fur; confidently and easily, as handsome and distracting as he ever was. Ren, however... Anduin swallowed a strangled breath, trying to relieve the sudden dryness of his throat, and forced his frozen feet to continue into the courtyard.

* * * * *

"..no _idea_ what he was thinking," Ren was saying as he slid down from his serpent's saddle, ears canted back in exaggerated disbelief. "In the tents! Ran right into the middle of the tents, _away_ from all of us, you'd think he'd never worked in a group before..."

"Death knight," Hardwire said succinctly, chuckling, as though that explained everything. Which, really, Ren had to admit, it probably did. "In the tent wasn't so bad, but on _top_ of it was..."

"Where did he think he was _climbing?"_ Ren exclaimed, tugging in frustration at the braids along his chin. "What did he think he was going to do, sit up there until the elemental burned the tent down? It was on _fire!"_

Hardwire laughed, eyes scrunched up above his delighted smile, and for a moment it was like it had been for the last few days - just the two of them, Ren and Hardwire, they way they had always been. Where labels didn't matter so much and there was nothing but the love of life lived to its fullest and the most steadfast strength - of family, of heart - at his back and at his side. 

"He'd probably picked up a head injury," his cousin suggested, grin wicked. "Took a tumble when that hive colossus stomped, and it's not like worgen do long falls very well." 

Ren snorted, the sound breaking into a laugh that he only half heartedly tried to cover up. "I didn't know why they were yelling to put our backs to a wall until that poor gnome went flying..."

"Ancestors, I thought she was going to land in Un'goro!" Hardwire admitted and any hope of decorum was lost, the laughter bubbling up and out as they leaned on each other, sore and exhilarated and triumphant. The Alliance, in the end, hadn't carried away the final pennant of the games, but it hadn't mattered in the slightest to the amount of fun they had had.

Someone at the edge of the courtyard cleared their throat and Ren's ears perked up as they both turned to greet their human mate. They made, he was sure, a sight - identical outfits scavenged from the Twilight camps, indiscriminately covered in dust and the hastily brushed away remnant of wounds, and matching wicked grins, the ones their teaching masters and mothers had forever despaired of. 

Anduin... didn't look amused.

Ren felt his ears lower for real and saw, from the corner of his eye, his cousin's ear flick back, Hardwire's hand tightening against Ren's arm. They were still so much in step after days of fighting in synch with one another, chi flowing effortless between them, that the sudden bolt of tension in Ren's nerves could have come from either of them, mirrored back and forth between them. Anduin looked serious, mouth set, face grim, and there were so many things Ren could think of that might have gone wrong, an endless number of horrible possibilities that all set his heart to racing and put a cold lump in his stomach. 

Anduin strode across the grass and right up to them and all Ren could think was that something had happened, someone was hurt, the cubs, the city, the Legion, and then Anduin shouldered his way right into arm's reach and... _oh._

_OH._

His scent was thick and heady, rolling ahead of each step in a wave that settled like a blanket into Ren's nose and across his tongue. The heavy scent of musk and lust, human skin and human desire, the scent that made up one of the bases that permeated the bed they all shared. It was a warm scent, one that called up an answering heat through Ren's skin, tingling just beneath his fur, and next to him Hardwire drew in a deeper breath on a low, muted rumble. 

Anduin's face was the perfect mask of the King, serious and somber, but his scent wrapped around them and told a different story. His eyes were so dark the blue was barely a sliver, blown wide and hungry. Ren shivered and didn't even try to resist when their mate hooked two fingers into the collar of his top, dragging him down to bring Ren's ear closer. 

"For the love of Light," Anduin growled, quiet and hard as mithril, "put some _clothes_ on."

Out of sight, blocked by the angle of his body, his free hand raked blunt human nails up Ren's exposed belly and across his ribs, making Ren bite back a helpless sound. At his side Hardwire's rumble shifted into a deep purr, the half growled sound of appreciation rumbling through his chest. 

Anduin didn't turn from Ren - and only they knew what that cost him - but his hand, on the pretext of shoving with some authority at Hardwire's shoulder, hooked fingers into fur and tugged. Ren was close enough to feel the little answering shiver that it sparked in his cousin, and the way Hardwire's purr slipped even deeper in wordless delight. Satisfied, Anduin tugged Ren down a little more, close enough not to kiss but to _bite_ , blunt human teeth nipping along his jaw and making Ren shudder. 

Anduin pulled back slowly, his darkened eyes heavy with unspoken meaning, and Ren didn't need words to know his own role was to pay the gesture forward to the mate their human couldn't touch in public. "I have council," Anduin said firmly, looking pointedly at them both. "I'll see you in our quarters in one hour." It was a promise, as good as signed with the royal seal, and Ren breathed out a little shakily as Anduin turned on his heel and strode away.

"Well," Hardwire said with a smug rumble of satisfaction, his hand settling lightly on the small of Ren's back as though to steady him even as his claw tips scratched another wave of shivers through Ren's rapidly melting nerves, " _that_ was certainly worth coming back for."

* * * * * 

Anderson's curiosity lasted all of six steps into the hallway before it got the better of the man; there was a real note of concern in his voice, though, which Anduin was grateful for. "Problem, sire?"

Anduin took a breath, the usual polite excuses - _it's fine, everything's fine, it's nothing_ \- piled up on his tongue. The other man's concern was genuine, though, tinged with the actual care that, more often than not, King Anduin Wrynn found only in those older military service members who had had the training of a young Prince Anduin. Anderson hadn't - had, if Anduin remembered rightly, been stationed in Kalimdor during the years when Anduin had spent the most time with arms tutors - but the genuine feeling that seemed to see him as more than just a political figure was still there.

And perhaps, he realized, he was simply tired of pretending to all and sundry that his family - his mate, his cubs - were interchangeable with the familiar that the human nobles of Stormwind expected. It hadn't been that long since he had counseled Ren to be more himself and attempt to blend in less; it would be the height of irony if Anduin himself kept perpetuating it. 

And maybe, just _maybe_ , he was tired of being the diplomat, tired of endlessly holding his tongue when he could remember his father saying whatever came to mind without much or any regard for propriety. 

"General Anderson," he said, exhaling a breath that was easier than he had thought it would be and determinedly ignoring the embarrassed heat he could feel beneath his collar, "what would you have done if your lady wife had been delivered of four babes at once?"

"Panicked," was the prompt reply, without a trace of self consciousness or having to consider the answer. Anderson only hesitated afterwards, giving the matter a moment of actual thought, and Anduin's estimation of the man went up several notches. "And hired a wet-nurse." Another pause, his brow furrowing slightly. "Maybe several."

Anduin had to cough slightly, covering a laugh. "Understandable," he agreed. "But, you see, that number isn't that unusual for a Pandaren."

Anderson muttered something that sounded more than a bit like 'Light have mercy', quickly followed by an apologetic "your Majesty", and Anduin managed to stifle the laugh but not his smile. 

"If a race routinely has multiple births," he explained, "then surely it's not unreasonable to expect that nature would... provide." A lifetime of diplomacy meant that his voice didn't wobble in the slightest, though he could feel the flush in his cheeks as he sketched a quick, rounded motion with both hands, not at chest level but lower, against his own ribs, and then lower still, against his belly. 

Anderson's eyes widened, his mouth caught part ways open, and for one priceless moment he twisted, looking back down the corridor to the courtyard even though nothing much of it could be seen between the archways. Anduin let his hands drop once more, waiting with the ghost of a smile as the older man pieced together what had been said, what _hadn't_ been said, and what the royal Consort _hadn't_ been wearing. "Well," he managed at last, swallowing. "That's... that is..." 

"Ren is male," Anduin said dryly, taking pity on the man. "And now that the babes are weaned it's really no more noticeable than it would be for you or I."

Anderson coughed slightly, smoothing down one side of his thick moustache. "Still," he said, and bless the man, there was a hint of a grin beneath that carefully groomed hair, "I imagine that's a hard thing to forget, after all. Least ways, I'm not sure _I'd_ ever forget it if it were my wife, and that's a fact. Beg pardon, Sire."

"None needed," Anduin assured him. He felt lighter inside, and still warm, both with the heat his mates had inspired and with a bright, almost bubbling warmth that he only belatedly recognized as freedom, born of shared humor and camaraderie. "But I'm sure you'll understand, General, if this is going to be a _very_ short council session."

Anderson's bark of surprised laughter drew out Anduin's own smile, something he didn't bother suppressing again until they were at the doors to the council chamber and then it was a very close thing indeed when, catching Anderson's eye, the other man cheekily gave him a wink and a nod before going to take his place at the table. Anduin had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from breaking face, and then determinedly did not glance the other man's way as he let the minister of trade thrust a new sheaf of freshly copied parchments at him. 

Light and warm and _right_ , his mates no further away than the royal quarters, close enough to reach and touch. Anduin smiled slightly to himself, flipping rapidly through the parchment sheets. It was going to be a very short council session indeed.


End file.
